


“Wave Goodbye These Neon Signs” - [ John Wick - One shot ].

by A_Wolf



Category: John Wick (Movies), Keanu Reeves - Fandom
Genre: A.Wölf, F/M, Keanu Reeves - Freeform, Tumblr: theartofimagining13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 01:51:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Wolf/pseuds/A_Wolf
Summary: What does John Wick come home to after a long night of killing?





	

**Originally posted at** : [The Art of Imagining](http://theartofimagining13.tumblr.com/).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Music** : _["John drives"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ft_-5kuYY-E)_

* * *

 

It’s an hour before sunrise.

I lie awake in bed in the same leggings and big sweater I put on a couple hours ago. I glance at my watch and realize that it’s best if I get up and start making breakfast; strong coffee, eggs, bacon, and toast.

How else could a hitman get his strength back?

I turn the lights off again when I’m done and sit on the window sill with my cup of coffee so I can stare at the city and its brief quietness and calm before the commuters fill the streets. I can see the sun starting to come out, making the buildings glisten, and I wonder if this shitty one glistens as well. I doubt so. But it is better this way, at least we go unnoticed.

Soon the sunlight will kill the reflection of the intermittent neon signs that hang from every store and restaurant in this neighborhood. They reflect all over the apartment. Even when I’m trying to sleep and my eyes are closed I still catch them blinking every few seconds.

I let the coffee warm me up as it travels down my throat, and leave my mug on the window sill briefly while I stretch my arms and then put my hair up into a messy bun. I reach out to grab the ashtray and pack of cigarettes that rest right outside, on the fire escape ladder, to light one up. And he’s punctual. As soon as I blow out the first puff of smoke, he shows up.

I can hear the Mustang soft hum as he parks in the alley, so I take my flask and spike the coffee with a bit of bourbon because I know he’ll appreciate it.

John dexterously and gracefully climbs up the ladder with his glock in hand.

* * *

_30 minutes earlier._

The 1969 Mustang Boss 429 advances through the streets and makes a violent right, tires screeching as it heads towards more recondite sections of the city after losing the two SUV’s that followed closely.

John Wick’s tight grip on the wheel loosens once he recognizes the ugly side of town with its multiple stores and restaurants and their neon signs glowing under the moonlight, or what’s left of it as the sun threatens to appear in the horizon. He relaxes and the blood flows to his knuckles again because he knows he’s finally safe, so as he comes to a stop light, he puts his gun back in its holster, and glances in the rear view mirror to make sure for the last time, that the persecution has ceased.

He notices the few cuts and bruises on his face. His left eyebrow is slightly bleeding and the bridge of his nose has a scratch stained with red too, but right when he pulls over and he’s about to reach for the handkerchief in the car glove box to clean himself, the passenger door opens and his hand instinctively reaches for his gun, but it just hovers above it once he sees a woman getting in.

 _“Hello, handsome”,_ she says trying to be seductive while chewing gum.

John studies her with a quirked eyebrow. She’s wearing a cheap faux fur short coat over a black bra, and a short skirt with ripped tights and the highest heels. One quick glance over her shoulder, at the neon sign that says _“Girls girls girls”,_ and John can confirm what her clothes already screamed; she’s a prostitute.

 _“Please get out of my car”,_ John says putting both hands back on the wheel when he sees no threat.

“ _Where ya going?”_ she asks with a smile.

_“Home”._

_“I could come with you”,_ she says leaning a bit closer to him and putting her hand on his arm, giving it a little squeeze _, “I could show you a good time”._

John eyes her fake long nails and stiffens, feeling uncomfortable.

_“No, thanks”._

_“Come on. It could be a motel if you prefer. Looks like you need it”._

_“I said no. Thank you”._

The prostitute removes her hand evidently annoyed by his harsh tone.

 _“Are you a faggot?”_ she abruptly asks, _“We’ve got men too, ya know?”_

That almost makes John smile but he shows her a stern look instead.

_“I have a girlfriend… And she’s waiting for me”._

The prostitute seems surprised and proceeds to exit the car, but not without leaning in the window to look at him one more time.

 _“She’s a lucky girl”,_ she says snapping her gum and showing a grin.

John places his right hand on the gear shift and stares straight at the road.

 _“I’m a lucky man”,_ he counters before speeding.

* * *

 _“Good morning”,_ I say with a lazy smile.

With a quiet grunt, he sits in front of me and leans against the wall, throwing his head back with a long and tired exhale as he shuts his eyes for a split second. And I know he’s wounded. He puts his gun in his holster and opens his eyes to gaze at me before stealing my coffee and taking a sip as if it were the healing elixir he needed, then as I bring the cigarette closer to my lips he steals that too.

 _“You shouldn’t smoke”,_ are his first words for me as he takes a drag on it and enjoys it like a recent smoking quitter.

Too much perhaps. But John’s strong. He resists and puts it out. Then he leans closer to me, putting his big hand right behind my ear before tugging at my hairband to let my hair down, and he captures my lips with his for a passionate kiss.

 _“Good morning”,_ he finally whispers with a hint of a smile once he pulls away.

 _“Fill me in”,_ I say.

_“No”._

He kisses my forehead and enters the apartment. I follow as he walks into our bedroom while taking off his jacket and bulletproof suit vest, and when he throws it on the bed, I see three bullets embedded in it and I caress them with my fingertips in amazement.

 _“I can handle it”,_ I tell him, and he faces me with a disapproving look on his face.

But I know what he’s truly thinking. He doesn’t care if the whole world sees him as the _“Boogeyman”_ or the man you send to kill said mythical creature, as long as his girlfriend doesn’t choose _“monster”_ as the adjective to describe him.

 _“I’ll stop smoking”,_ I promise, biting my lip to restrain a smile.

And I’ve succeeded at making him chuckle, the serious man.                      

 _“No, you won’t”,_ he accuses.

_“No, I won’t”._

He shakes his head and loosens his tie.

 _“Eight dead”_ he mutters.

He studies me, waiting for my reaction but there’s none, just a slight nod. I stand behind him to help him remove his button down and when the muscles in his back contract, I am able to see a few bruises. They will look much worse in a few hours and I confirm it when I graze his tattooed skin with my fingertips and he winces.

But he faces me again, towering over me, and my right hand reaches for his glock. He hates it when I touch his guns but I maintain eye contact with him while I unload it and throw it on the bed before he lectures me.

 _“How are the children?”_ he changes the subject.

_“Waiting for daddy”._

He walks into the next room and as soon as he opens the door, our two dogs greet him as if they hadn’t seen him less than 12 hours ago, and he kneels before them and pets them for a while; I swear I’ve never seen a purest form of love.

 _“You’re going to need ice again”,_ I tell him.

* * *

A few minutes later, he’s submerging in the ice bath he prepared. He doesn’t even flinch. It amazes me.

John’s quiet while we eat breakfast but he’s mentioned how good everything is, there, sitting across from me in his dark sweats and white t-shirt. Then he goes full domestic mode when he puts on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and takes care of the dishes. You’d think he couldn’t kill a fly.

 _“We can go look at houses tomorrow”_ , he suddenly says.

I realize that he’s never been this nervous. Not even when he’s pointing and cocking a gun in a stranger’s face.

 _“That’s if… you still want to move in with me”,_ he adds.

 _“Already?”_ I inquire.

_“Yeah… They… they paid me much more than I thought and I’m getting the rest tonight”._

I giggle because I can’t believe it. We’ve lived in this shithole for 2 months but I thought it would take much longer to move out. John doesn’t see it that way, even though he has nowhere else to go at the moment, he doesn’t consider this our place and I like that. He wants to make it official when he gets a bigger house in the outskirts of the city.

The thought of having an actual garden and enough space for him, me, and the dogs, arouses me. So I inch closer to him and his hands automatically land on my hips. He still thinks I might say _“no”,_ but I kiss him while I wrap my arms around his neck.

 _“I can’t wait”,_ I whisper.

And his response is taking off the gloves, throwing them in the sink, and intensifying the kiss until I hop on the countertop, and he pushes my knees apart to position himself between my legs. I want him. I cannot stand another second without his touch. I ache for it because he’s made it home safe another day and there’s only one night left before we wave goodbye these fucking neon signs.

He’ll also take a long break.

I tug at his shirt and he pulls it over his head before crashing his lips against mine desperately. A few seconds later, my naked back is hitting the mattress and John is crawling on top of me. He makes love and he fucks at the same time. His touch is gentle, as if he were afraid that I’d bruise like a peach, and yet his thrusts are hard and deep to make sure I feel all of him inside of me. He somehow claims his territory but I already know there’s no other man out there for me.

I know he’s aroused by the end of every successful mission, I know he can’t wait to come home and ignore his painful bruises to ravish me until I’m moaning with pleasure, coming undone in his arms as he pours himself into me.

He makes me his every night.

* * *

It’s only by midday that his seemingly endless stamina finally shows signs of weakness.

He’s dead tired and so am I, so we finally sleep, all day long to wake up and live at night.

When I wake up at 8:00pm, I can see him standing by the door already dressed in his black suit, only the jacket missing, and he’s paying a delivery guy. He closes the door and notices that I’m awake.

 _“Thai food”,_ he says lifting the plastic bags for me to get a better look.

I stretch on the bed, turn on the TV as he rushes around to finish assembling his bulletproof outfit. Then he sits on the edge of the bed and I crawl towards him, position myself behind him with my legs on each side of him and my arms around his stomach while he loads two glocks and aims at invisible targets as if warming up.

He acknowledges my presence by glancing over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

 _“When will you take me to a shooting range and teach me all you know?”_ I ask and he stiffens.

But he doesn’t put up a fight, instead, he turns and gently pushes me down on the bed with his body, then kisses my bare stomach, going down until I can sense his desire to remove my underwear again, but he stops himself with a low grunt.

 _“Soon”,_ he mutters, _“very soon”._

He stands up and faces the mirror, slicking his hair back. 

 _“Now, eat”,_ he orders, signaling at the food with his chin while he adjusts his sleeves.

The man is ready and dressed to kill.

I know he’ll steal a couple of spicy vegetables off my plate before disappearing into the night, and at sunrise, he’ll come back, sweaty and slightly covered in blood so we can start a new chapter in our lives.


End file.
